


we'll make our own ending

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Best Friends, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Napping, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 19:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18977116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: He'll never care, because the world will never know, no matter how they rewrite the new prince's chapters in the history books, they'll never be able to guess all the secrets that he and Steve collected between breathless kisses.





	we'll make our own ending

**JB Barnes**  
October 5, 2017 6:48 am  
Getting on the train now. Bringing you art supplies and bagels. You want anything else?

 **SGR**  
October 5, 2017 6:53 am  
Thank you and no! Try and get some sleep okay? Or do you just want to sleep when you get here?

 **JB Barnes**  
October 5, 2017 6:55 am  
Might do that. I have work to do and if I can get that out of the way for the weekend…

You’re awake already? You have a thing? 

**SGR**  
October 5, 2017 7:00 am  
Buck, I’m always up this early. No thing now. Though, just… 

Okay don’t worry. Okay? Say okay.

 **JB Barnes**  
October 5, 2017 7:05 am  
What am I saying okay to? STEVEN. Jfc, now I AM worried. What did you do? Stage a coup? Declare war on Switzerland?

 **SGR**  
October 5, 2017 7:06 am  
You know I can’t do any of those things… 

Also: no, i didn’t DO anything. 

I’m just kind of sick. Well, not really, I’m FINE. It’s probably just allergy and asthma crap. But somebody’s going to say something to you on the way into the house, and I just… You know. 

**JB Barnes**  
October 5, 2017 7:10 am  
Yeah, I know. 

Okay. You need anything? Since you’re not feeling good? 

**SGR**  
October 5, 2017 7:11 am  
I’m okay. :) Text me when you're close so I can down to get you when you're here. 

**JB Barnes**  
October 5, 2017 7:12 am  
In your weakened state? How will the country deal if you overwork yourself? You’ll never conquer Switzerland that way, your highness, Steven Grant Rogers. 

**SGR**  
October 5, 2017 7:22 am  
JERK

 

Bucky leans back into his seat on the train and closes his eyes, phone still in his hand. The train ride from the city down to DC is about three and half hours long, and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s going to spend most of it alternating between texting Steve and doing SHIELD academy work. First, because the stuff he has to get through isn’t particularly interesting and gets tedious after a couple hours. The reading is all history, facts and dates, and Bucky’s resorted to post-it-noting and highlighting as much as he can just to keep himself active while reading. 

Second, even though Steve told him not to worry, Bucky’s going to worry some. He’s known Steve long enough that “kind of sick” can mean anything from a sore throat to walking pneumonia. He hasn't even been home that long--he's been on a press tour for the few couple weeks and Steve being Steve, he probably agreed to every extra event and interview that his staff proposed.

Well, no, Bucky’s being unfair there. Steve wouldn’t bother mentioning if he just had a sore throat or a runny nose, and if he was feeling really bad, he would’ve called Bucky instead of just sending a text. His asthma's probably just bad from the air quality or stress or something like that 

Probably. He'd probably call Bucky, let him know if he felt really awful, even if he wouldn't tell anyone else, Steve would tell Bucky. He wouldn't lie to Bucky about his health; that's not a secret Steve would keep. Anyway, they'd decided years ago, when Steve first moved to York House, that they wouldn't keep any secrets from each other. 

Bucky puts his phone down to rub both hands over his face. He’s been away from Steve for almost four months now at the SHIELD academy and everything inside him is tensed in anticipation. It doesn't matter one fucking bit if Steve has a some gross allergy thing going on or a sinus infection or whatever, it doesn't matter if he's dying of pneumonia again and doesn't want anyone else to know, Bucky’s going to spend the next four days with his best friend. 

Pressing his hands into his eyes until he sees pin-prick stars, Bucky lets the phrase ‘best friend’ repeat in his mind. Steve is definitely that, but he’s not just that, he’s somehow _more_ than that. They've always been more than that to each other. 

And yet, at the same, he’s still _only_ that. 

Bucky lets out a sigh and drops his hands from his face. For a few more moments, the world is made up only of pin-prick bright starts against the backdrop of Bucky's memories of Steve, his eyes and his smile and the warm press of his hand against the small of Bucky's back. 

Right. 

Read and annotate two chapters. Check up on Steve. Send a few texts and see if Steve will talk to him on the phone to help him stay awake. Hope the coffee he had on the subway keeps him awake until he can collapse on Steve’s sofa.

*

As promised, Steve’s waiting for Bucky in the courtyard outside the house. The palace, the royal family’s official residence, in in Alexandria, but Steve’s been staying in the house they have in the Capitol now that it’s fall. He never got used to that big, empty mansion anyway, and Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t have a city growing up around him. He needs the rush of life that the city brings, the museums and concerts and breathless enthusiasm.

Steve's in jeans and flip-flops, a CUNY hoodie that Bucky recognizes as one of his own, and a baseball cap pulled on over his blond hair. He’s got his glasses on, not his contacts, a pretty sure sign he’s not feeling good and has already been awake too long. A smile appears on his face as soon as he sees Bucky, however, and he strides over to the car to help Bucky out. 

Close up, Bucky can already tell that Steve’s not feeling well, but that he's not feeling awful, either, just like he said. His eyes are pink-rimmed and irritated looking, a little like he's been rubbing at them all morning, and he's got that all-over sort of look he gets when he's run down and not feeling great. 

“Hey…” he says, peering into the car before Bucky can get out of his seat. His hand rests at Bucky's side for a fraction of a second, the contact warm and too short lived. “You have a lot of stuff with you this time?”

“Hey… no, just two bags. Steve, you don’t need to--here, _fine_ ,” Bucky says, and passes his duffel bag over to Steve. He has his backpack, and a garment bag, too, but he can manage those without Steve's help. “Don’t you have people do this stuff for you?”

“Yeah, but I do this stuff for _you_. You know that, Buck.” Steve smiles again, and talks to the palace driver for a couple minutes while Bucky collects all his things. Without listening to their conversation, Bucky can tell Steve's just asking about the other man's family and how his day is going. 

“Suit?” Steve asks when Bucky hoists up the garment bag. 

“Suit,” Bucky replies. “Academy uniform, too, 'cause you always end up dragging me places and you know I like looking sharp for the paparazzi.” 

Steve laughs at that, then turns aside and muffles a cough into the sleeve of his hoodie. He keeps on going for a little while, then clears his throat and waves away the frown Bucky gives him. 

“Sorry… my throat’s really itchy this morning,” he explains, and then, after thinking for a second, adds, “I might need an allergy pill…” 

“God, how bad are you feeling? Really?” Bucky switches the garment bag to his other hand so he can rub in the middle of Steve’s back, sliding his hand up under the hood of the sweatshirt, as they walk into the house. 

Steve glances over his shoulder with a tiny shrug. “I’m doing all right.” 

“You sound awful. You’re throat's a wreck? Is your chest okay? Please tell me you've been paying attention to your asthma.” 

Steve shrugs again, but then, when his security detail falls back as they enter the house, he gives Bucky a quick nod. “Pretty much, yeah. My head’s all…ugh.” He waves a hand in front of his face. “It's not in my chest, though. You’re going to get tired of listening to me, probably, by the end of today....” 

“If that were true, I think I’d already be tired of it.” Bucky rubs his thumb up and down between Steve’s shoulder blades. “You haven’t even started up yet.” 

“I think you just jinxed me,” Steve says, a little laugh behind his words before his breath starts building. Even though they’re past his security detail and into the private areas of the house, he holds his sleeve fully in front of his face to cover the sneeze as fully as he can. 

“Bless you.” Bucky glances at Steve, almost ready to take the bag back from him, but knows Steve wouldn’t surrender it anyway. 

Steve gives a little nod, and Bucky can feel the shudder that goes through his slim body when he starts coughing, too, muffling the sound into his hoodie again while they pass a few members of his staff. He waits a couple seconds, and shakes his head when when his breathing sounds calm and even once more. 

“Ugh. Excuse me. You really are going to get tired of listening to me this weekend. I'll make it up to you.” His breath catches again and Bucky gets about a half-second glimpse of the urgent expression on Steve’s face before he ducks away again. When he sneezes this time, the sounds a little louder and more rough on this throat, and Steve gives a few little coughs afterward. He give a sigh of frustration at himself, too, and sniffles the whole walk to the elevator, where he pulls a couple crumpled tissues from the hoodie pocket. 

“Bless you,” Bucky says again. He rubs Steve’s arm when they’re in the elevator, and nearly gives in to the urge to pull Steve in against his side and just keep him there, really close and really warm. Not because Steve can't look after himself, but because Bucky's a little desperate for the reassurance that he doesn't mind Bucky looking after him sometimes. “You gonna take something?”

“Yeah, I think… Allergy meds. I wanted to wait and see.” He follows Bucky off the elevator, and then pauses, and rests his hand against his chest for a second. "I might need my inhaler, too, though." 

"You're a fucking mess this morning, Steve." 

“Yeah, yeah... Hold on,” he mumbles in a quiet, congested voice, and holds the crumpled tissues against his face while they walk into his apartment. 

He nudges Bucky toward the sofa, and then drops Bucky’s overnight bag in his own bedroom on the way to the bathroom. After a few seconds, Bucky can hear him blowing his nose and then coughing, and not the polite, quiet sort of coughing he’d been doing downstairs, either. He just sounds kind of miserable and run down, and like he needs some privacy. 

Bucky gives Steve a few minutes, and gets out of his jacket and shoes, before heading toward the bathroom himself. Steve’s blue baseball cap and glasses are on the counter by the sink, and he’s washing his hands when Bucky walks in. 

“Here?” Bucky asks and opens up the medicine cabinet. He finds Benadryl and Steve’s prescription meds amongst the other usual stuff. “Which one do you want?”

“Those,” Steve says when Bucky holds up the bottle of prescription tablets. “The other stuff’s for you. In the spring. Because you never remember,” he adds just as Bucky makes a sound of incredulous protest. 

“That’s because it’s all pollen down here in March. No air, just pollen, I don't think anyone can breathe right from it.” He taps one tablet from the bottle, then hands it over to Steve. “That’s gonna put you to sleep.” 

“Yeah.” He swallows the pill down with water, then rubs a hand through his hair and puts his glasses back on. “You brought bagels?” 

Bucky smiles and this time doesn't even stop himself from putting his arm around Steve. “Sure did. Real bagels. You want to do coffee? Decaf’s okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Steve leans into the arm Bucky keeps around him and walks with Bucky into the kitchen that way. 

He’s still sniffling off and on while they toast bagels and make coffee, but he looks a lot more relaxed in his own space. He hands Bucky coffee beans to grind, and lets Bucky slice and toast the bagels while he leans against the counter and watches. He's barefoot now, and his hair keep falling into his face, and Bucky thinks, okay, he could manage a trip to DC every weekend just to see Steve like this. He could manage getting up at the ass crack of dawn to get on the Acela and find Steve like this, soft and sleepy and more than a little vulnerable, willing to rest his head against Bucky's shoulder while they wait for their coffee. 

Steve clears his throat, pulls away from Bucky, and then gives him a small, hesitant look. “So, there’s a thing at the Smithsonian tonight.” 

“I knew it, there is a thing.” Bucky reaches around Steve for two dishes, and stays close to him for a couple extra seconds to catch the scent of his soap and skin. God, if he could just… lean in a little closer, maybe, and brush a kiss against Steve’s temple, then maybe he wouldn’t have to _say_ anything. “Do I have to dress up? Be interesting? Talk about art and-or politics?”

“Yeah, okay. A short thing, though. Drinks in the new exhibit in the American Art Museum. The one I worked on,” he adds, and looks both proud and embarrassed at the same time. 

“Stevie, god, you have to tell me that stuff before I start joking around. You know we’re going to go.” Bucky gives Steve his own proud grin. “You helped curate that exhibit. We’re going and getting our pictures taken and all. I’ll wear my academy uniform, if you want.” 

Steve goes shy and proud all over again, and when he lowers his eyes, his lashes look gold against his cheeks for a moment. 

“Okay, yeah. Wear it. That’ll be… really good,” Steve murmurs. He scrubs his face into the tissues, and makes a face like he’s trying to not sneeze or cough while they’re in the kitchen. He also looks worn out from his asthma and allergies and from being up early with both, enough that he droops a little as he watches Bucky get their breakfast ready. 

“Right, you need to eat something with that medicine, and then we’re gonna take a nap so you’re not worn out for tonight.” Bucky hands Steve one of the plates and a coffee mug, and gives him a shove toward the sitting room. 

Steve puts the news on the tv while they eat, though Bucky groans about it and asks for shitty daytime television instead. Once he’s finished with his bagel, though, Steve cradles his coffee cup against his chest and drops his head down against Bucky’s shoulder. 

And, right, Bucky knows then and there that Steve could put _anything_ on the tv and Bucky would sit and watch it, just to have Steve nestled in close to him on the sofa. He even rubs his face against Bucky’s tee shirt after he yawns, and mumbles something about Bucky being right about the nap. 

“Let’s go lie down,” Bucky says when Steve yawns again, hugely, and takes Steve’s empty mug from his hands. 

“You going to sleep?” Steve asks, and a frown appears between his eyebrows. 

“Sure. I’ll bring my History of Everything book from the academy, and I’ll be out before you. I only have one more chapter to get through, though, thank god. I'll read it to you if you want..." 

Steve has enough time to nod, and, in the same motion, duck his face down into a few tissues. He sneezes again, twice in a row this time, and sighs wearily as he crumples the tissues up and leans forward in his seat to rub at his forehead. 

“Oh… I hope that eases up a little bit." Steve frowns again, and doesn't have to mention how much he hates having any of his health problems be obvious or even noticeable when he's in public. 

“Rest will help. C’mon, Stevie…” Bucky tugs him up off the sofa, and then into his bedroom. 

Which is probably the least elaborate bedroom in the royal residence. Steve has it all done in warm cream and blue, though there's a red knit blanket on the bed, one that Bucky had forced him to buy on some trip down to the beach when the nights proved chillier than they'd expected. Books and art supplies lay scattered over the big, oak desk Steve has in his bedroom, and there's another hoodie and a paperback on the chair in the bedroom. Bucky allows himself a few seconds to bask in how very Steve the room feels to him, how there's a warmth in the colors and even in the scent of the room that just means home to Bucky. 

Steve stands at the door for a second, glances at Bucky, and then gives Bucky an uncertain look. “You can stay here…? Or there’s the other--” 

“--no, here’s fine.” Bucky gives a nod of agreement before he even thinks about it. He can’t even think of the number of times he’s shared a bed with Steve, curled up close and warm around Steve. He’s always been protective of Steve, the same way Steve’s been of him. 

Bucky pulls off his jeans and sits down on the bed in his boxers and tee shirt, and then pushes the blankets down after Steve exchanges his jeans for a pair of jersey knit pj pants. Bucky stacks pillows for Steve, so the congestion doesn’t bother him while he tries to sleep, and then settles himself in next to Steve. He has his textbook propped up on his knees, and Steve’s head comes to rest against his shoulder again. 

“There a part about me in there?” He asks, voice already getting sleep-slurred. 

“Yeah. You want me to highlight it? Cross it out and rewrite it?” 

Steve shakes his head. By the time Bucky’s flipped to the index to find the pages, he’s already asleep.

*

Bucky doesn’t really need to flip to one of the end chapters in his history book to read about the prince, about how Steve had been kept away from the frenzy that surrounded the throne and the royal family. About how he’d been born small and sick, and how his parents had raised him at York House, and how his mother kept him there even after his father had passed away. How he’d gone through the NYC public school system, and then attended CUNY for his BFA. How he’d been reluctant to accept his place as crown prince after the death of his uncle and cousin.

The picture in the textbook is of the cover _Time_ magazine did of Steve five years ago just after he was named official heir to the throne. He’s twenty years old, still a little too thin after a bad winter, and his hair’s a halo of gold around his head, his blue eyes lowered toward the caption: _The Reluctant Prince._

The photograph is beautiful, ethereal almost, but it’s not _Steve._

Steve Rogers, who got into playground scraps at least once a week in elementary school; who spent half of sophomore year on homebound instruction because of a case of pneumonia and still graduated top of his class; who majored in Fine Arts and French at CUNY, who slept in Bucky’s dorm room more than his own his first year, and who refused to abandon the clubs and protest groups he’d joined after he’d been named heir; who’d accepted his duty despite believing the country deserved better than an outdated, powerless monarchy. 

__Fuck the press. Fuck the press and the gossip mills, who all thought Steve wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong or healthy enough. Fuck them and _their_ reluctance to see him for who he really is. _ _

__Bucky gives a yawn of his own and closes the textbook before he gets annoyed with it all over again. He settles against the pillows more comfortably, smiling when Steve curls in closer to him, his arm warm and secure around Bucky’s waist._ _

__It’s not that the books and pictures are wrong, _per se_ , but they only capture one part of Steve Rogers, one small sliver of who he really is. _ _

__That’s alright, though, because Bucky’s never been ready to share more than that much of Steve with the world.__

__*_ _

__  
_Bucky wakes up too warm, Steve's face pressed into his shoulder, snoring through his stuffed up nose, giving little, quiet, wheezing breaths every so often that threaten to build into a cough. Despite all that, though, Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes._  
  


__Because if he doesn’t open his eyes, he can pretend they’re back at York House, or Bucky’s apartment in Brooklyn, or someplace (anyplace) closer to home. His mind, hazy with sleep, settles on his place. When Steve rubs his face against Bucky’s shoulder as much as he does against the pillow, Bucky smiles at how familiar the gesture is._ _

__They could be anywhere, he knows, and it would still feel like home as long as he had Steve this close to him, safe and relaxed._ _

__He dozes for a few more minutes, then drifts awake again when Steve shifts and Bucky finally tugs Steve to sleep on his side._ _

__“M’snoring?” He asks, half-asleep, but aware enough to answer his own question with a mumbled apology._ _

__“Just a little bit. Could hardly even hear you,” Bucky replies. He looks sleepy, too, his eyes soft and a little blurry looking, and he touches the side of Steve's face before nestling back into the pillows himself. "Go back to sleep."_ _

__"I'm awake now," Steve says, but, he's got his feet tangled up with Bucky's under the blanket and when he reaches forward a little, his fingertips brush up against Bucky's chest, they're that close, and his fingers are so, so warm against Bucky's chest, even through his shirt._ _

__He closes his eyes, two fingertips pressed against Bucky's chest, and Bucky lets himself drift off in the close warmth of their bodies beneath the blanket right after Steve falls back asleep._ _

__When Bucky wakes up again, Steve's also awake, and he gives Steve a quick little smile when Steve notices he's up._ _

__"Time is it?" Steve asks._ _

__"Four? A little after I think..." Bucky thinks about reaching for his or Steve's phone, but Steve stops his hand before he can do anything more than tug the blanket back a few inches._ _

__"It's fine, stay."_ _

__He doesn't want it to be any time, really, he just wants to be here in this floating space between asleep and awake, where he's too warm beneath the fleece blanket and so close to Steve. Waking up again in the middle of the day turns everything a little soft around the edges, foggy, weirdly blurred and pleasant, all golden afternoon sunlight, sleep-fuzzed around the edges._ _

__Steve hooks one fingertip up under the edge of Bucky's tee shirt and closes his eyes again. Now, he slips his finger underneath Bucky's tee shirt, bed-warm and close, and he can probably feel the little jump of Bucky's stomach muscles when Steve touches him, then the way they relax when he keeps touching him. Bucky keeps his breathing in check, then lets out on a sigh when Steve pets him carefully and looks up at him through the dark blond of his eyelashes._ _

__They..._ _

__... _shouldn't.__ _

__Maybe, Bucky thinks, probably. They probably shouldn't, but they've waited so long._ _

__There had been a moment like this, once, years ago, when they'd thought their world would only be the two of them, but then the king and prince passed away, and this ... all _this_ passed to Steve, and all Steve had wanted was to hand it all back and rest his own hands on Bucky's chest, lean up and kiss him. _ _

__Steve lets out a sigh, eyes still half-closed, and tangles up another finger in Bucky's shirt, tugs Bucky closer, like he's remembering the same thing that Bucky is, that last evening they spent in York House together five years ago._ _

__"It's okay," Bucky murmurs, "whenever you're ready, okay?"_ _

__"I know." Steve waits another second, then opens his eyes and smiles back at Bucky. "Now?"_ _

__"Now?" Bucky laughs and shakes his head, and it's the low, quiet, private laugh that he knows Steve likes best. He dips his head down a little and noses through Steve's hair. "Just me and you, though, for a while? Okay? Like a secret..."_ _

__Steve tugs Bucky's tee shirt and tangles his legs up further with Bucky's. "Okay. Me and you, Buck."_ _

__"Just like you wanted...?"_ _

__"Yeah," Steve replies. "Just for a little while... just keep it secret for a little while. So I can have you to myself before anyone else knows."_ _

__"You're terrible at keeping secrets, Steve."_ _

__This all Bucky's ever wanted, really, though: Steve, and him, close and warm and together. Bucky nods, and he doesn't feel uncertain or hurt, but he still hates himself a little bit, he hates both of them for having to call their relationship a secret anyway. It's not like he's not out; he's been out since his eighteenth birthday. He just wants to keep Steve safe, keep him warm and safe and happy, like he is right now, curled up beneath the blue fleece blanket on the bed, in his tee shirt and pj pants, his bare feet warm against Bucky's, his lips brushing against Bucky's softy as Steve leans in to kiss him._ _

__"I still sound gross," Steve says. He definitely sounds better, though his words are roughed-voiced and nasal. He slips one hand up under Bucky's shirt to rest against his side and strokes Bucky's skin, warm and gentle and sure. "Okay?"_ _

__"Okay," Bucky murmurs. He sighs soft and quiet through his nose when Steve kisses him, and it's like sinking into the warmest, softest sensation ever. "It's always okay, Steve, I don't mind..."_ _

__"Because you're kind of an idiot," Steve murmurs. He doesn't stop kissing Bucky, though, and instead presses closer, strokes Bucky's side gently with warm fingertips._ _

__He kisses Bucky harder before Bucky can reply to that, hard enough to draw another sigh from Bucky, but this time it's nearly one of relief. Steve's body feels so good next to his, sleep-warm and close, and his mouth moves over Bucky's soft and careful once more when Bucky sighs. He kisses the corner of Bucky's mouth, a smile curling around his lips, and nestles in closer to Bucky. Wonder lights Steve's eyes when he strokes his fingers over Bucky's cheek and down around the curve of his shoulder._ _

__"I don't want to get out of bed," he says, and when Steve kisses Bucky again, his tongue slips between Bucky's lips and he sighs into that kiss, too. "I want it to always be like this for us."_ _

__"I know. Me either. Feels perfect." Bucky kisses Steve once more, sure, deep, and warm, and curls his body into the warmth of Steve's body for a few more sleep-hazy minutes. When Steve shifts against him, Bucky buries his face in Steve's hair. "... should shower?"_ _

__"Yeah..." Steve pulls away and stretches, yawning and squeezing his eyes shut as he does so, then turns to give Bucky a smile. "Wear your academy uniform for me, Buck? Nobody needs to know why you're wearing it, nobody needs to know it's just for me..."_ _

__Warmth flutters through Bucky's chest and he realizes he's going to have a very hard time saying no when Steve gives him that fond, secret smile. He touches the side of Steve's face, tracing the line along his jaw to his lower lip, then stroking his thumb back and forth. He keeps up the slow, steady touch, hyper aware of Steve's blue eyes on him, of the rise and fall of Steve's breathing. Outside, the afternoon sun is starting to slant autumn gold through Steve's bedroom window and when he presses his mouth to Steve's parted lips, Bucky imagines both of them, drenched in the gold light as it falls over their bed-mussed hair and sleep-warm skin._ _

__Later, when Bucky's buttoned himself into his dress uniform, after he's done up Steve's necktie and cufflinks, and even later, when Steve introduces him as James Barnes of SHIELD, his mind will flicker back to the last moments they spent in bed together. He'll remember the touch of their lips and fingertips against each other, of Steve whispering his name soft and breathless, of the catch of his own breath as he feels Steve's body yearn in against his. He'll remember Steve pulling on his dress shirt, then glancing back over his shoulder at Bucky, his eyes bright and his smile slow and sweet as Bucky comes to wrap his arms around Steve from behind. Their reflection in the mirror, shower-damp hair and his chest pressed up to Steve's back, the smile on his own face--god, Bucky will remember that moment for the rest of his life._ _

__He'll remember every one of these moments, pin-prick star-bright in his mind, and Bucky will know that he and Steve will always belong to each other in ways innumerable. He'll slide his arm around Steve's waist when Steve starts to look tired and he won't care who notices, he won't care if the whole country notices how he and Steve look after each other. He'll never care, because the world will never know, no matter how they rewrite the new prince's chapters in the history books, they'll never be able to guess all the secrets that he and Steve collected between breathless kisses._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Bright Stars Burning' by Hey Marseilles.


End file.
